Page 3 of Samuel's Heart

“Then you already know that we can’t share any information,” she says, her tone apologetic, and soon she goes back to the documents in front of her, effectively cutting me off.

“I just—“ But I can’t continue because she cuts me off by talking over me. Again.

“There is nothing we can do for you.”

“Please,” I beg with my full being. “I need to know.” The desperation that was filling me this morning at the thought of no longer being able to cry is destroyed by the tears running down my face. Drop after drop that I can’t stop from falling.

Her gaze softens a little, as it does with everyone who knows what happened, but I already know it won’t change anything. No matter how many tears I let fall, how many pleas I make, and how many desperate requests, the answer is always the same.

No.

A big, fat, crushing no.

It cuts deep, as if it’s the first time hearing it, not the hundredth.

“We can’t share that information. I’m very sorry, but please go.”

With a thud, my head bounces on the glass dividing us, and for a few seconds, I can’t move. My brain, evaluating the next move as if it doesn’t already know, freezes my body in place.

“I’ll have to call security if you don’t leave,” she reminds me, with a voice more understanding than her look.

“I’m going. Sorry to take up some of your time,” I say, before pushing myself back and turning around to find my way out. Her head bending down to look at the documents is the last thing I see.

My heart is already broken and bruised from losing my lover, but it breaks a little more each time they refuse to tell me anything about what happened to him. The same reaction I had when they told me he was dead happens today with this denial.

The stream of tears falling from my eyes, and the desperate sounds coming out of my mouth, have the effect of attracting attention from too many people, making me dash away without looking to where I’m going. Looking for a place to hide. A place where I can let out some of my anger, frustration, and desperation.

When I bump into someone, I nearly fall on my ass, and I would have if it wasn’t for the strong hands curling around my shoulders to keep me up.

“I’m sorry,” I say without raising my head, and trying to shrug his hands off me, but he doesn’t let go.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I pour two years of pain and sorrow on him.

“I need him. I need to say goodbye,” I mumble, but what I really want to say is,“No, I’m not. It’s been too long since I’ve been okay. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t do anything. I’m so fucking tired.”

“I can help you.”

Hope springs inside of me, like a flower popping out of the ground, and I grab for it with all my might, like it’s the first drop of water after a long drought, because finally there is a tiny light at the end of the tunnel. Because he is the first person taking an interest in me after too many years without.

I shouldn’t, but I pour all my fears, desire, and hope onto him. He seems surprised, but he doesn’t leave. So, maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally be able to get my life back on track.

“I just want to know where he is. I want to witness him being still alive in others. I want John back.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, and the feeling of his hand leaving me makes me feel even more alone.

Without thinking, I take a step forward and into his arms, letting my chin rest on his shoulder because I need all the comfort I can get. He’s the first person to touch me since I lost my lover. I ignore the havoc those hands are provoking in me because I’m sure it’s only related to how lonely I’ve been since I lost John.

He puts his arms around me, and I take all the warmth his body is letting out, until my tears stop and I can hear what he’s whispering in my ear.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

Finally, after three long years, I’m able to cry for the loss of the only person I was close to, the only person who was always there for me, and the only person who was able to love me unconditionally.

“Everything will be better,” are the words he’s repeating over and over. I wish I could believe him, but in these last couple ofyears, the sorrow and guilt have festered, making them the only thoughts in my mind.

I’m lost without John, unable to move forward or look back to find strength in the moments we spent together. I never thought that guilt would ruin something beautiful, but it did. All those memories we shared are lost in the darkness my life has become since we’ve been apart.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” he says, when I’m finally able to stop the tears and the wounded animal sounds I’m letting out. It’s like I’m stuck in a trap, trying to get free, and making things worse.

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